


The English Encounter

by wynnebat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Dimension Travel, Humor & Angst, M/M, Minor Genevieve Padalecki/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because his parallel universe self seems happily gay-married to a man named Harry Potter doesn't mean Dean Winchester has to believe it. It's for the tax benefits. Obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> I don't consider this RPF since it takes place in an episode of a totally fictional TV series, but this story does have real people's names in it, if that's not your thing.
> 
> All my adoration goes out to [Trickster_Angel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Trickster_Angel/pseuds/Trickster_Angel) for the encouragement and metaphoric hand holding :)

Dean Winchester was not going to freak out.

Getting literally thrown into an alternate dimension wasn't the weirdest thing that had happened to him—that would be being some sort of health nut corporate executive—but it did reach the top ten. He was in a universe where glass was rubber, Sam was Polish, and Castiel, angel of the lord and all around unhelpful, hard-to-read dude knew more about technology than he and Sam did. And he grinned, too. Someone should prevent Castiel—or Misha, or whatever—from grinning. There was something so wrong about that. It rubbed him the wrong way, seeing Cas acting so human. It was as though someone had pushed away everything that made Cas himself, unnervingly like the 2014 that never came to be, where he'd seen Cas relaxed and joking and not being his usual dry self for the first time.

Even his trailer, which reputedly belonged to some version of himself, looked straight out of a magazine. Everything was clean lines and untouched things, like he spent a maximum of an hour a day in the place.

Though, dude, he had a _helicopter_. By the remote on the table under it, the thing could actually fly, too.

"Vrooom," Dean said, picking it up.

Sam gave him a look. It said, _yeah, continue being childish, I'll just get back to doing the actual work_. Usually, it accompanied a variation of Sam's bitch face, but this time Sam seemed too busy to bother. 

"It's mine," Dean explained. "Not-me will just have to deal with me handling his shit when he gets back. Out. Wherever he is." He went back to playing with the remote. A few moments later, he realized the batteries were dead, and looked like they had been dead for a while. Jensen Ackles apparently did not appreciate his toys.

"Right," Sam said, shaking his head. "You do that. I'll just look up this Jensen Ackles, get some information on him. Google should—okay, found him."

Dean hummed and continued checking out the not-his junk. This guy wasn't a hunter (despite playing one on TV), but apparently being a TV star did more for your bank account than hunting did. A three hundred gallon aquarium with fish from New Zealand, six high school sports trophies, a top of the line Blu-ray player, and an electric fireplace. In a trailer. This guy's taste was off the charts pretentious.

"So lay it on me. Who am I?" he asked, dropping down on one of the black leather couches. A matching leg rest automatically rose up. Dean grinned, pointing at it. "Damn, look at this." However bad his not-self's taste otherwise was, he certainly had great taste in couches. Maybe they could smuggle this into their world somehow and set it up at Bobby's. It certainly beat any couch back home.

Sam barely glanced up from the computer. He seemed to be making choking noises in the back of his throat. He definitely looked nothing like the Blue Steel pose in the magazine, though Dean would still rib him for it more later.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dude, you okay?" If Sam was researching Dean's not-self, then… "Don't tell me. I did porn when I was starting out. Wait, yes tell me who I've banged."

Because if this dude had banged that blonde chick with the spider tattoo, on camera, then his not-self could be as pretentious as he wanted. He'd _earned_ it. Those were some serious bragging rights.

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. His expression was somewhere between panicking and laughing. "No, not that. Though there are plenty of pictures of you shirtless. And one, well."

Sam's voice hadn't been this squeaky since puberty. Dean was seriously considering getting off the couch from heaven (maybe not heaven—he suspected they were all a bunch of sadists up there too—so just from somewhere ridiculously expensive) to take a look.

"You're from Texas. You were on a soap opera—"

"What?" Just when he was starting to get a good opinion of his not-self, too.

"—and your anniversary is coming up. Congratulations. You're married. To your husband of three years."

Dean snorted. Husband. That was rich. "Pull the other one, Sammy."

Sam scrolled down and clicked another few links. "I'm not joking. Look at this." He gestured to the screen.

Dean reluctantly got off the couch. The computer screen had a tab open of him in something called Days of Our Lives and a tab of his official Wikipedia page, where he was listed as married to one Harry Potter.

"Are there pictures? It could be some asshole messing with the website." Fuck, let it be some asshole messing with the website.

Sam clicked on the link attached to his not-self's husband's name. "Harry Potter," he read, "Born June 31st 1980, is a British-Canadian hockey player for the British Columbian team Titanium." He started skimming down Harry Potter's profile. "Graduated from Hogwarts School in Scotland, came to Canada ten years ago, dual citizenship. Married Jensen Ackles three years ago. You're still together. Look, it even has your wedding photo."

Because seeing it there wasn't enough, Sam clicked to enlarge it. There was not-him and some guy with dark hair and a white suit with a smiling minister behind them. Not-him was sliding a wedding ring onto the Harry Potter guy's finger and looking at him so softly that Dean wanted to puke.

It wasn't a hoax.

Dean collapsed onto the couch.

"Anything you want to tell me, man?" Sam asked. "Not going to judge or anything."

"Fuck off."

Shit. What do you do when you find out some alternate version of yourself was gay? It wasn't even like he had anything against being gay. Or marrying men. Free will, free love, all that crap. (Lesbian porn, too.) That just wasn't him.

Right. Okay.

"We're getting out of this universe, Sammy," Dean said in a no-nonsense sort of tone. "I don't like this universe."

"Yeah, no argument here."

And Sam was still staring at him, like he was waiting for Dean to begin singing a number from Grease.

Fine. Dean Winchester was going to freak out. Quietly, and in a very straight, masculine sort of way. And then he'd put it down as just one other thing that was out of whack in this universe, and completely forget about it.

.

Except, even after they'd left the trailer and gotten a ride to a place to crash, the whole thing was still bothering him. Because Jensen Ackles was him. The dude looked like him, talked like him, walked like him. He was Dean in another life. And he was so gay that he was even gay-married. Even if a lot of things were different, they had too much in common for this to make any sense. Sure, Jensen Ackles didn't drive a classic car, and instead paid someone to drive him in a black SUV that couldn't be more than a year old (the poor, sad thing). But there were some things that didn't change just because he was brought up normal.

Did that mean he was half gay? What do you call someone whose alternate universe self was gay?

Fuck. Someone was going to die. Starting with Raphael, maybe with Balthazar thrown in. Because this was an awful lot of mind scarring just to keep a key away from Raphael. A key that looked like it led to someone's mail locker.

Dean slammed the SUV's door extra hard, and it still closed softly. New cars just didn't give its passengers the satisfaction of venting their anger.

He drummed his fingers on his knee as Sammy told the driver where to go. He'd decided not to think about it, sure, but he couldn't help adding, "It's for tax benefits, Sammy. It's got to be." Not-him wasn't actually gay.

"Right. You know. I have no problem—"

Oh fuck, that sounded like the beginning of the _it's okay to be gay_ speech. "Tax benefits," Dean quickly cut him off.

"—with—"

" _Tax benefits_."

"Okay. Fine. Tax benefits. Because you've really fallen on hard times."

Yeah, his tech'd out trailer sure looked poor. Stupid know-it-all Sam.

"I don't know how to explain it," Dean told him.

Sam wisely said nothing. Then, because he was Sam, he added, "You don't have to explain anything."

"You don't have to explain your face."

That shut Sam up, even if he was rolling his eyes at him. They sat back in silence. Actually, Sam sat back in silence. Dean sat back onto something hard that poked into his side. Taking it out, he noticed it was a cell phone that someone had left behind. It was black, shiny, and had none of the wear and tear of his own cell phone.

"Hey, Chris, this yours?" he asked, holding it up.

"Cliff. It's Cliff," the driver said tiredly. Dean got a feeling they'd done this a few times before, not-Dean and not-Chris. "And it's yours."

After typing in all the significant four-digit numbers he could think of, Dean asked, "What's my password?"

"Your anniversary. Harry set it a few weeks ago." With a sigh, Cliff said, "Guys, if you're on something, you know I need to tell someone about it. Your spouses, at least."

Dean gave the phone over to Sam. "Well, use your freaky memory powers." He gestured to the screen.

"De—…Jensen," Sam said, stumbling a bit, "I don't actually have a photographic memory."

"May 2nd, 2008," Cliff helpfully supplied.

Of all the alerts that immediately popped up, what worried him the most was the one about his so-called husband. "Shit. I was supposed to pick, ah—" he glanced at the Cliff "—Harry up at the airport. Two hours ago."

"Don't worry about it. Gen had the same flight. He's spending the night at hers."

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam. There it was, proof that he and Harry were definitely not in this marriage thing because of love. Even if his background image was of him and Harry making eyes at each other at someone's picnic party.

He hated everything about the photo, including the casual domesticity it implied. Jensen and Harry were sitting on a wooden porch, laughing, with friends and relatives in the background. They had the kind of life Dean had tried so hard to have with Lisa, except with three years under the belt, they were succeeding far better than he and Lisa ever had. And that had nothing to do with gayness, or the fact that it looked like he and Harry didn't see too much of each other. It had everything to do with him not being a hunter in this messed up world.

And he knew hunting screwed him up, badly, but knowing he could've had all this if only Dad had raised them differently made him feel tired about it all.

The fact that he and Sam weren't even in America seemed minuscule in comparison.

.

Seeing not-Ruby, who was apparently Sam's wife, was definitely creepy. Like human Cas, not-Ruby seemed to have lost all her intensity in this universe. She was even into animal welfare—and not so that she could do demonic rituals using their blood.

Though he had to say, the good thing about this Ruby was that you could happily stare down her dress without feeling guilty about perving on a demonic bitch.

"Er, Jensen," Sam said. "Jensen."

Not-Ruby crossed her arms. Her breasts looked even bigger at this angle. "Control your co-star, honestly, Jared. Ugh. Harry's upstairs, Jensen. In the usual bedroom. I'll be back later, okay?"

"Okay. No problem. We'll just, you know, go say hi."

"He's sleeping. I sent you an update on Facebook about it."

Apparently, everyone knew more about technology than Dean here.

Not-Ruby gave Sam a kiss, while Dean pretended his first impulse wasn't to tear her away from him.

After not-Ruby and not-Ruby's amazing legs left through the front door, Dean turned to Sam. " _Ruby?_ Really?"

"Harry? _Really?_ " Sam mimicked.

He didn't have a point at all, Dean decided. Then he gulped. "How much of a chance do I have of avoiding this?"

Sam rolled his eyes as they headed upstairs. "Dean, he's sleeping. What's he going to do, molest you in his sleep? It's not like you've never shared a bed with a man." At Dean's righteous expression, he added, "Just sleep on the couch or something."

Dean decided Sam didn't understand the enormity of the situation. He, on the other hand, did not understand the gaudiness of not-Sam's house. Because it wasn't a house; it was a showcase for bad art and photos of Sam.

"Dude, is this really how you'd decorate your house?"

Sam snorted. "No, I'd have a good sculpture of myself in the front lawn, too. So that people would know my house from the other look-alikes." He rolled his eyes. "Of course not, Dean. Look it's obvious that Jensen and Jared are completely different people compared to us."

Of course they were, and not just because they had bad taste in spouses and art.

All too soon, they came to what Dean assumed was the usual bedroom, as it had a gold-framed photo of Harry and Jensen. In this one, they were sitting side by side and laughing as a litter of golden retriever puppies playfully pulled at their clothes and attempted to climb on top of them.

"Not a word," Dean muttered. But Sam was just standing there, shaking his head and smiling and glancing at Dean with something like amazement in his expression. Before Dean had to once again remind Sam that none of this was real, the door flew open suddenly and a messy head poked out.

"Jensen! You made it. And hey Jared. Are you guys really walking together without glaring or is it just my jet lag talking?"

The guy, who Dean assumed was Harry Potter, opened the door fully. At first glance, he wasn't much to look at. Glasses, shaggy black hair, a nose that had been broken at least twice, dark bruises under his eyes. He wore a huge hockey shirt and boxers.

"Harry," Dean managed to say as he took in the guy's appearance. He hadn't been hit with latent gayness at first glance. Good to know. "How are you?"

"Completely knackered," Harry answered through a yawn. "I was just going to go back to bed, but I heard your voices and had to get you to join me. To prevent world war three, you know," he said with a wink at Sam. "Come on. Gen bought these great pillows."

"I really don't think—"

"I can finish the rest by myself," Sam, the traitor, said, giving Dean a nudge. "That thing we talked about, I'll get it. And wake you up tomorrow morning. See you tomorrow, loverboy."

Dean was going to kill him. This was not how he'd planned to spend the night. He stepped inside the room, carefully edging around Harry, who still stood in the doorway, staring into space. He looked like he'd fallen asleep right there.

"Need a hand?" Dean asked, awkwardly stopping in the middle of the room.

Harry blinked a few times and shook his head. "M'fine. I'll just go to bed now."

Despite himself, Dean snorted. "You do that."

Harry flipped him the bird as he fell down onto the bed.

It took him a few moments of wrestling with himself, but Dean finally stripped down to his boxers and got into bed beside the other man. He wouldn't be able to sleep well fully clothed, anyway, no matter how much he'd rather do that. His body, the traitorous thing, seemed to relax instantly on the bed, and Harry wrapped himself around him in moments. After a year of sleeping with Lisa, having a body next to his again didn't feel as weird as it should have, given that it was male.

"Missed you. Came back on the first flight. Won the game," Harry mumbled against his skin, kissing the corner of Dean's mouth sloppily.

"Ah, good," Dean said, and stared up at the ceiling, prepared to count sheep. Or shoot Sams as they jumped across fences.

He didn't notice himself falling asleep.


	2. Day Two, Part One

Dean decided he could be excused for not immediately jumping out of bed when he woke up. It wasn't that he wanted to spend a few moments cuddling with the man who was his alternate self's husband. It was just that he hadn't immediately realized that the person in his bed wasn't Lisa. It wasn't that big of a fuck-up, honestly. His drowsy subconscious had idly wondered why Lisa was a lot hairier than usual, and why her shoulders were too wide, and why when she hugged him in her sleep, her arms wrapped further around him than usual. When he'd woken a bit more, he'd remembered that Lisa had left him, which meant that the person next to him was a snuggly one night stand.

When he heard loud, obnoxious snickering coming from the area of the door, he remembered that his snuggly one night stand was, in fact, a man.

Dean's eyelids were practically shocked open and he scrambled out of bed like his partner was a particularly evil succubus he'd mistaken for a normal woman.

Except a monster, any monster, would've been better than a man. He couldn't even say that Harry was feminine enough to remind him of a girl. He looked like a normal guy, someone Dean could be friends with, shoot some pool with, maybe even have a platonic drink at a bar with.

Sam was still laughing hysterically in the doorframe, damn him. Dean scrambled to get his clothes on.

"You were petting him," Sam said through his laughter. "I should've gotten it on camera."

"Fuck you," Dean muttered. "And this house and world and everything else."

"And me, too?" asked the third person in the room.

Dean looked back to see Harry sitting up on his elbows, the blanket shoved even lower than it had been. He didn't know why he was focusing so much on that blanket. It wasn't that Harry had something he'd never seen before. (On himself, obviously, and maybe through a one-time teenage experimentation thing with a fellow car geek that he'd later spent a long time denying.) It wasn't like Harry was going to make him gay through a single glance at his magic cock. His eyes were drawn down to the covered area between Harry's legs, where he could see the outline of his member. Right. He didn't feel a sudden surge of gay. He was fine.

Dean realized a couple moments too late that he still needed to give his bed-mate an answer. And that Harry had no doubt noticed his momentary stare, and possibly taken it for ogling.

"Sorry, have to get to the set. We have an early morning, uh—" Did not-him have a nickname for Harry? Honey? Baby? _Snugglemuffin?_ "—yeah."

Harry grinned easily. "Don't trip over anything." He stretched, then got up from the bed. Thankfully for Dean's eyes, he kept the sheet wrapped around himself, though it was probably only for Sam's benefit.

"I never trip—" Dean began, then stopped as Harry non-consensually rubbed sleep from the corner of Dean's eye. It was something Lisa would've done, and too intimate by far for this. So was Harry's soft look and the way his lips quirked up as though Dean's very (rumpled, unshaved, reluctant) presence inspired happiness.

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked, then kissed him softly, running his hand up Dean's arm. "Sorry for my morning breath." He turned to Sam. "Good luck to you too, Jared. We should catch up sometime, okay? Don't be a stranger." And then he got back into the bed, curling up in the spot Dean had just left. Fuck.

He let Sam say their goodbyes for him and took the stairs two at a time.

"Let's get this over with!" Dean called without glancing behind.

.

On the drive to the airport to pick up their supplies, Sam turned to Dean and asked, "So, how was your night? Learn anything new? New positions, perhaps?"

Dean gave him a steely (and not the blue steel kind) glare. "Shut up, Sammy. Tell me what you found."

Sam shook his head, motioning at their driver. When they arrived at the airport, Sam exited the car and Dean followed him, resting against the car and watching.

"That it?" he asked as Sam came back with two packages.

"Yeah. One saint's bone. We can be out of here in an hour."

"Thank fuck," Dean replied. "I've had it with this place."

Sam looked uncomfortable for a moment, then said, "Look, Dean—"

"We're not talking about it."

"Not about that. I also bought a soul-scrying board for us to use. I did more than research the ritual last night, because this? This is weird. Not only because this place has some sort of link to our world, but because our actors look like us but don't seem to be related at all." Sam pulled out a sheet of paper from his jacket and unfolded it to show a family tree. "Look at this: we don't have the same parents. But we are second cousins, twice removed. Our family trees are almost identical to ours except for our grandparents afterwards. Deana and Samuel never got together, neither did mom and dad or dad's parents. Instead they married similar enough looking people that Jensen and Jared look exactly like us."

"Why should I care about this, Sammy?"

"We're miracles of biology. Also, the angels probably got our grandparents together too, along with our parents. It didn't happen here, even if we came out looking like, well, us. But what's important is the fact that not that many things are different. We probably have the same souls. This body, it doesn't have my scars. It's not me. But it still accepted my soul. I think somehow, we either pushed out Jared and Jensen's souls, or even overwrote them." Sam's expression became grimmer the more he outlined what might've happened when they burst into this alternate universe.

"Where would their souls even go?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, his expression hard. "I think they may have gone to heaven."

Dean closed his eyes, thinking about not-Ruby and Harry, about how he didn't like either of them, but they obviously loved their spouses. About how Jensen and Jared might be two more casualties of the Winchester brothers. About how Sam wasn't always right.

"Or we could've swapped places with them. Hell, maybe they're tearing up Bobby's house back home trying to get back."

"I hope so," Sam said, but his voice wasn't as confident as Dean's.

That was okay, Dean thought, because he had enough confidence for the both of them. It was up to them to make sure a whole different universe didn't get screwed up just because the Winchesters came for a visit.

.

"What's that?" Clint asked when they got back in the car.

"An Ouija board and some old dude's bone," Dean replied.

"It's for TV purposes," Sam added.

Clint gave them both a very un-amused look. "Your enthusiasm for the job is frightening."

.

They arrived at the set an hour early and went straight to Jensen's trailer, hoping no one noticed them carrying suspicious boxes through the set.

"Okay, how do we do this thing?" Dean asked as he laid out all the pieces of the soul-scrying board on the coffee table.

"According to Mr. Dunbar's instructions, we lay the board facing north, then spell the name of the soul we're trying to reach. If the name glows white, the soul is still in reach. If it doesn't, it's passed on into the afterlife," Sam said, arranging the letters for JENSEN ACKLES on the board. "But first, we have to simultaneously chant these words." He held up a sheet of paper covered with Latin phrases.

"Are you sure this even works?" Dean asked, eying it with suspicion. "We should try one of our own names first."

"Good idea," Sam said, and rearranged the letters before they went on to the simultaneous chant. The chant wasn't going to be a problem, after all the practice their father had them do as kinds. They had a few false starts, with Sam or Dean speaking too soon, but they got the hang of it quickly.

The words SAM WINCHESTER glowed white and the board rotated until the arrow pointing north faced Sam instead.

"I guess there is magic in this world," Dean said offhandedly as they stared at the board. Had Dean not already been sure of Sam having his soul back, this would have done the trick.

"It probably wouldn't work in our own world," Sam said with a sigh. "But we could take it with us and try, anyway."

"It would sure as hell be useful," Dean said.

But when they tried JENSEN ACKLES, the board would not respond.

.

The only thing left to try was the ritual to get them back to their own world, no matter how wrong it felt to possibly destroy two lives and just leave. But getting it done with proved more difficult than they'd expected. Sam had gotten the right parts shipped for the ritual, but before they could begin, they had to spend the day doing their doppelgangers' jobs. It was the most pointless thing Dean had ever done, and that included four years of Spanish classes in high school and working as a cashier for a case.

As Dean stood in front of a camera and repeated some bullshit line for (no joke) the fiftieth time, he thought he'd almost rather be in hell. He needed out.

"And yet, somehow you got no problem with it," he said to Misha-as-Cas, trying hard to not look at the camera.

That was probably an okay take. He said the line, didn't glance at the team of directors—

"CUT!"

And reset. Once again. He was going to kill someone. Misha continued to play a strikingly familiar Cas while he and Sam jumbled through their lines, hoping for the eventual end of the scene. Or for lightening to strike them down.

The biggest surprise was when, two hours (of talking and gesturing while a group of people shouted at them for doing things wrong, and wondering how people seriously did this for a living without going insane) into filming, Harry (wearing _glasses—_ how did he ever play hockey in them?) came in, taking a seat near the end of the long line of cameramen and directors. He shot Dean a thumbs-up, which Dean replied to with a nod.

Harry cheered silently but enthusiastically for the next few takes while Dean resigned himself to the idea that his husband was disturbingly supportive. Of everything Dean—or rather Jensen—did. _He and Lisa should meet sometime,_ he couldn't help but think. He also watched Harry grow more and more confused each time he and Sam screwed up a shot. Great. He was making a fool of himself and making the person he lived with suspicious.

"And when we find the lock, we'll have a lock. But we'll also have a key. Which we'll use. To open the lock," Sam said haltingly, and Dean didn't need to be psychic to know he was going to hear—

"CUT!"

—in a few moments.

When he glanced sideways again, behind the disgruntled directors and at Harry, Harry was holding up a finger to his lips. His mouth hinted at a smile. He held up a sheet of paper, one that looked like someone's copy of this episode's script, and showcased a brilliant illustration of a dick drawn in thick black marker.

Dean rolled his eyes. _Very mature._

 _You know it,_ Harry's expression seemed to say.

"Ackles, stop that this instant—"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean replied. He focused on not screwing up too badly, but his attention kept turning toward Harry, who kept on drawing ridiculous things.

The next time he glanced to the side, Harry had moved on to stick figures riding on broomsticks and a huge block-letter caption reading, "Want to ride my broom?"

Dean didn't quite get why the figures were riding brooms. Maybe Harry and Jensen had a creative role-play life.

Fuck. He was going to bleach his brain when things went back to normal.

.

When their director forcefully ejected them from the set, saying that maybe a break would set their heads back on, Dean collapsed into one of the nearby chairs and Sam said something about taking a leak.

"How do I do this every day?" he groaned.

"Well, you're not usually quite so bad," a voice he recognized as Harry's said. The man himself sat down on a chair next to Dean's and rested one of his knees companionably against Dean's. "What's wrong?"

Dean shrugged and said, "Nothing much. Just tired."

There wasn't anything he could say to a man who only knew some watered down version of himself. It wasn't like he could say that he and his brother were stuck in an alternate dimension, that they might have killed or merged with or whatever two innocent actors, that Sam had been soulless only a short while ago, and that their own world was so screwed up right then that as much as Dean didn't like this world, it was a welcome break.

Dean thought about Sam and wondered if he was thinking about just staying in this world. One where everything was good and whole. One where Ruby was alive and cared for small children and animals and third world countries.

"Alright," Harry replied. They sat companionably for a while, until Harry said, "I love you anyway, even if you've somehow turned into a terrible actor in the past few days."

He said it so easily, like it was a completely ordinary truth. Dean's chest ached.

"You wouldn't feel the same way if I were Dean Winchester," Dean replied, then cursed himself for even saying it. It was petty and dumb and just the product of overthinking Sam's reunion with some form of Ruby. Because not-Ruby would run screaming in the other direction if she found out that Sam wasn't Jared, and that would probably cause Sam to angst over her for months.

Harry laughed. "What kind of logic is that? If you really were Dean Winchester, I'd be out hunting demons alongside you instead of playing hockey. Of course I'd love you. In addition to being you, the caring, proud, talented man I care so much for, you'd also be a charming gun-slinging hunter with a heart of gold." He took one of Dean's hands in his, running his thumb over Dean's knuckles. "I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. That's not going to change. So relax and let whatever's bothering you go. You're getting Sera worried, and you know that's just going to give you more grief."

There wasn't anything Dean could say. He went with, "Thank you," but it wasn't nearly enough to convey his wonder that some version of himself was able to have a stable relationship with this depth of feeling. And he ignored the prick of guilt at his conscience, because Harry was here and able to give comfort to him, but after Sam and Dean left, there might not be anyone to give him the same.

His acting was better after the break, if only because he tried twice as hard to focus on acting, instead of on Harry's words.

.

Hours later, Harry was gone, probably back at the home he shared with Jensen, they were finally done fooling around on the set, and their ritual was a no-go.

"Why didn't it work?" Dean asked as he and Sam trudged back to Jensen's trailer. "We had the right ingredients. It was the right set. It should've worked."

At least they'd done the ritual with fake glass, since otherwise they'd both be bleeding now. But that was the only positive spin Dean could put on the whole thing.

"I have no idea. Maybe the magic in this world is just too different for our world's rituals to work," Sam said thoughtfully, opening the door to the trailer.

They entered the room only to see Harry there, standing in the center of the room. He'd obviously seen the soul-scrying board, and Dean started to say something about it being a prop from the set that he and Sam had been messing around with. But Harry's expression wasn't one of confusion or curiosity. He wasn't trying to make fun of them for thinking the supernatural was real.

Harry's expression was pained as the board's pointer swung straight at Dean, and Dean realized with sudden wariness that the letters on the board spelled out DEAN WINCHESTER. 

Harry pointed a wooden stick at Dean's head, his face grim and determined, and said, "You're not my husband. What the hell is going on?"


	3. Day Two, Part Two

Harry's words hung in the air while Sam and Dean warily watched the suspicious wooden stick Harry was holding. He pointed it like a gun, like it could do something other than sprout branches and flowers. Like it was a magic wand of sorts. What had Dean's alternate self been up to? Had he been hoodwinked by a witch?

"What do you think is going on?" Dean asked. "Because I can ask you the same thing."

"Dean, this really isn't the best time to argue," Sam said through the corner of his mouth, his eyes still focused on Harry. Or rather, on the stick. "Look, we can explain."

"Please, do feel free," Harry replied. "Should I call you Sam or Jared?"

"Sam," Sam said slowly, the words like an admission of guilt. "I know it's hard to believe, but Dean and I aren't from your reality. We're from another universe, where everything on the Supernatural show is real."

"Right," Harry said. "Because that's a common thing to hear. You two are really Sam and Dean Winchester? How do you know you're not really Jensen and Jared, suffering a break from reality? Or driven insane by drugs?"

"You don't seem that surprised," Sam said. "Are you a witch?"

"That's what they call devil-worshipping magic users on your show," Harry said, frowning. "I'm not a witch." Then, offhandedly, he said, " _Accio weapons_." Nothing happened, and Harry's face was utterly blank. Dean wondered what would have happened if one of them actually had any weapons. Would they have vanished? Blown up? Turned against their wielders? He hadn't been this naked since he was a teenager and unable to bring any sorts of weapons with him to school, but now he was glad for it. But did Harry really believe their story? Or was he humoring the people he thought to be his husband and friend?

"I'm a wizard. I use magic, but I don't do any of that other stuff. Magic is neutral in this world. It's not aligned to any demonic or godly power. It just is. And some people, like me are able to tap into it. But this isn't my interrogation. It's yours," Harry said. Then he pointed his wand and said, " _Stupefy_ ," once at Dean, then at Sam.

Dean shivered. He hadn't felt a thing. "What did that do?"

Harry stared at them, frowning slightly. "It… let me know something very important. You're either not real or not of this world, and I don't think I've had any head injuries." Harry lowered his wand slightly, still holding it, but not aiming it at their heads anymore. "Look, I don't want to hurt either of you. All I need you to do is tell me where Jared and Jensen are."

Dean swallowed, sharing a glance with Sam. Situation FUBAR was a go, with no way of stopping it. They had no idea what this man could do to them

So Dean did what he did best: lied.

"We swapped places with them. They're in our world, with Bobby and Cas, while we're here. We'll be out of your hair as soon as we can figure out how to do get back."

"And Jensen and Jared will return?"

"Yes," Sam said. "We're just alternate versions of the people you know. We're not your enemies."

"Alright," Harry said. "I'll believe you." Slowly, he let his wand lower to the floor. Were he a demon, Sam and Dean would have taken the chance to subdue him. But it could be that they'd need his help—he was a magic user, after all—and he'd be a lot more receptive if they didn't put him in a chokehold. "How soon can you switch back?"

Dean was about to stumble through an explanation when the door blasted open.

"The Winchesters. I've finally found you!" yelled Virgil.

"Dammit, Balthazar let him through?" Sam muttered, Dean agreeing with him.

"I'm guessing that's not Carlos," Harry said, raising his wand against Virgil as the angel rushed toward Dean—and the key to Balthazar's weapons locker in his pocket.

Harry yelled, " _Incarcerous_!" at the man as Dean elbowed him, but all they succeeded in doing was aggravate him.

"Don't you have some kind of offensive magic?" Sam yelled towards Harry as he joined in the fight.

Harry grimaced, crying out, " _Wingardium Leviosa_!" The computer, lifted up by Harry's spell, flew towards Virgil's head, but stuttered in the air a few inches away. Harry focused, his face becoming red from exertion, but the computer refused to reach the angel.

They were so focused that no one saw Bob Singer enter through the open door and gape at the scene before him.

"What the hell is going on here?" cried Bob from the doorway. As their attention turned toward the plump, balding producer, Virgil threw the brothers off and ran for the door, pushing aside Bob in his haste.

Harry gulped and hid his wand back in his jeans while the brothers straightened out.

"Well? I'm waiting," Bob said, arms akimbo. "You boys have one job. One job. To act. And instead, you make a farce of the production, ruin this show's reputation with your new drug habit, and fight a guest star!"

"It won't happen again, sir," Sam said, nudging Dean.

"What he said," Dean agreed.

Bob turned to Harry. "And you?" Harry sheepishly smiled until Bob shook his head and laughed. "Harry Potter? Fighting? Don't make me laugh. You haven't even had one fight on the rink!"

"I almost got into one two days ago," Harry said with a grin. "Almost."

"It was against the Macaws. No one would'a blamed you for it. Now, keep these two knuckleheads in line, will ya?" He left, muttering, "I'm too old for this mess."

"Did you use magic on him?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"No," Harry replied. "We've just had quite a lot of conversations over the years. This show's been running for six years, mates. Six years. He knows I'm mature enough not to get into a fight at the drop of a pin."

"I'll say," Dean muttered. "You were useless!"

"You expected something to happen though, didn't you," Sam said thoughtfully. "You expected something to happen when you said Stuptefy. And when it failed, you tried and failed to smash him with that laptop."

"Either you're totally incompetent, or you can't use your magic against us. Fess up," Dean finished, picking up the laptop, which had fallen onto the floor. He turned it over in his hands before placing it back on the table, but he couldn't find any trace of magic. Whatever a trace of magic even looked like in this world.

Harry scowled, crossing his arms, but eventually started talking. It made sense; Sam and Dean would've learned the truth soon anyway. "It has something to do with the fact that you three aren't from this world, I think. I can't use magic on you or against you."

Well, that solved the question of how safe they were with this man. It was one thing if he was a witch, but if he couldn't use his witchy powers against them, Harry was just another human.

"Can you use your magic to get us home?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. But I do know someone might. It'll take a couple hours."

"As long as he doesn't get the key, we're fine," Sam assured.

Which meant that, when the two brothers searched their pockets and found only lint and a gum wrapper, the day went to hell. The three of them searched the area for Virgil, Dean sticking with Harry because according to Sam, "He's not trustworthy. And maybe you can learn something from him." Dean only lightly punched him when Sam added, "—about gay sex," under his breath.

Two hours of searching later, all Dean found was that Harry had not-bad arse and a perennially optimistic attitude. When they met back up, it was clear that there was no sign of Virgil in the area.

.

They got to Jared and Gen's home late, and found Gen in the hallway, crying. Her makeup was in streaks on her face, her eyes were red and puffy, and for once she looked nothing at all like Ruby. She immediately went towards Harry, who pulled her into a hug.

"What happened?" he murmured, patting her back.

"It's horrible. Misha's dead!" she cried.

Eventually, she told them where he'd been killed, sobbing throughout the whole story. Nothing was clear yet, and no suspects had shown up.

"I'll stay here with Gen," Harry said. He looked reluctant to stay back and keep himself safe when there was a murderer on the loose, which told Dean more about him than anything else.

That was all Sam and Dean needed to hear. Clint drove them to the crime scene, professionally not complaining about how he'd rather be at home than driving two people who obviously knew how to drive. Dean tried not to be annoyed, but if he were driving his baby right now, he'd be going at least twenty miles per hour faster. Clint had a thing for rules, apparently.

"Misha's body isn't going to vanish," Clint said with a heady sigh. "And he'll still be dead when you two get there."

And he was, very definitely, dead when they arrived at the scene.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Dean asked, crouching down to look at the way the man's throat was slit for maximum blood loss, a smudged as though someone was trying to cup his throat. Or fill a bowl with blood. Meg had been the first to use blood to communicate with her boss, but apparently the technique wasn't reserved to just demons.

It was easier that he might have thought, to see a man who looked exactly like Cas lying dead on the ground. Maybe because they'd all died so many times that a part of him would never be completely sure that his brother or friend was gone for good. Or maybe because Dean was an expert at denial. One or the other.

In the meantime, Sam had begun talking to the homeless man who'd managed to escape being killed by Virgil.

"He said this world had magic, and that the Winchesters had a witch ally! Do you think it's true?" the man was saying as Dean came over.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude. The guy killed someone in front of you, and that's what you focus on?"

"I'm in shock, okay," the man said, breaking into sobs. "I tried to help him! But only after the killer had left. He was real crazy, talking to someone named Rafael…"

With those words, and the explanation that followed, the Winchesters had their ticket home. As long as they arrived before Rafael the next morning and went through the portal at the exact time, they would get home. Dean would finally see Cas and Bobby, and help in the fight against Eve and Raphael instead of being stuck on a mini-vacation in bizzaro world. He could leave and never again have to think about his other self or his other self's husband.

.

The house was dark when Sam and Dean returned, not a single light visible from the outside.

Cliff looked warily at the house. "You two going to be alright?"

"Of course," Sam replied, stepping out of the car.

Dean followed him, his hand going toward the empty pocket where his gun usually was. It was a very small comfort, knowing that Virgil also didn't have any guns or powers. But he did have a knife—or an angel blade—and Dean wasn't too keen on finding out what happened to people who died in a dimension that wasn't their own.

The front door was unlocked, but that didn't mean anything, as the same had been true yesterday. The Padalekis didn't seem to be interested in privacy, and no good thief would want to steal their many statues and photographs of themselves. Sam and Dean slowly entered the house, treading toward the faint noise toward the back. When they got there—to a den full of couches and gaming station and more liquor cabinets—they saw that the noise had only been the television playing. Across from the television sat Gen and Harry, wearing pajamas and surrounded by food containers.

"Hello Sam and Dean," Gen said, crossing her arms.

"You told her?" Dammit, was anything private around here?

Harry didn't even look guilty. "She deserved to know, especially if you two were going to stay in her home."

Gen sniffed, rubbing her eyes. "I know the basics. You two decided to invade this universe without letting the proper authorities know, and now my husband is missing and I can't even file a police report about it. And if he stays missing, I won't even have anyone to go with to the dolphin rescue gala later this week."

Harry patted her on the back. "Don't worry, you'll have me. We'll figure something out." He turned back toward Sam and Dean. "Or, actually, you'll have Sam to take if we don't figure out how to open a portal between worlds."

"Sorry, ah, Gen, we'll be out of your hair tomorrow morning, and you can have Jared instead," Sam replied, not sounding apologetic at all.

"Pity," she said, looking him over. "I didn't get the chance to tell last night, but you must be a lot more muscled. Do you work out a lot?"

As Sam answered Gen's many questions with a wide-eyed look, Dean stepped over to the food containers.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I just got you some friend rice and General Tso's," Harry said, handing over a white container, fork, and napkin.

"I love it," Dean replied.

"It's Jensen's favorite food," Harry said, watching Dean wince.

"You're a bit of an asshole, aren't you," Dean said with a sigh, sitting down in an armchair and leaning back.

"A bit," Harry replied. "I'd have to be, to deal with you."

Eventually, Sam and Gen wandered over to the coffee table, taking their own shares of food. No one turned the TV back on—it had been playing what looked suspiciously like Jared and Gen's marriage video—but Gen did turn some soft music on. It was different than what Dean was used to; sitting down in a home that was sort of theirs, being able to enjoy a night instead of searching for their next case or signs of Eve. It was similar to the year he'd shared with Lisa, though not quite; Lisa was everything he'd ever wanted, a woman his younger self would've imagined, and Harry would've never crossed his wildest dreams. For all that it barely made sense, it was nice. More than.

Sam and Gen talked quietly, about things Dean couldn't hear, and Sam looked happy. It was disconcerting to realize that for all her faults, Sam could've been happy with another version of Ruby. 

Gen finished her meal, composing herself until she looked as confident as Ruby once had before they'd killed her, and strode towards the exit. "Well? Aren't you coming?" she asked, looking back at Sam.

Sam gulped. "Uh. Me?" He followed after Gen, and Dean saw the two kiss passionately before they slipped away from view.

Dean turned back to Harry for an explanation, eyebrows raised. He'd been expecting Gen to be angry about the other night, not invite Sam up for a repeat.

Harry shrugged. "For the sake of my sanity, I've never asked. Gen and Jared's marriage is… very happy, and that's all I want to know."

"He didn't even grab a drink." Dean took a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and poured himself some scotch, grabbing another glass for Harry. "We call it Hunter's Helper," Dean said, raising the bottle to look at the label. Only the best kind of whiskey for Jared Padaleki, it seemed. Not for the first time, he wondered how their doubles were so damn different from himself and Sam.

"I know. I watch all of Jensen's episodes—even the ones he swears he acted terribly in." Harry smiled wryly. "You know, I never thought... I never thought he'd be the one to die first."

"He's not dead," Dean said, sitting down in the armchair next to Harry's, only a small table between them.

"Cut the crap," Harry replied, accepting Dean's offer of another drink. "I wasn't going to say anything in front of Gen, since we're going to find out tomorrow whether you were right, but things don't go that smoothly in your show—life. So many people have died around you. It's not your fault, or Sam's. It's your _world_. And now your world has entered mine, and it doesn't leave without casualties. So tell me the truth."

"I don't know the truth," Dean said after a long pause. "I don't know the method to Balthazar's dimension-traveling device. Maybe Jensen and Jared are dead. Maybe they're in my world. Maybe they're on a plane we can't reach even with your world's magic, waiting for their bodies to be free so that they can return to them. I don't know, alright?"

"Alright," Harry said. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He looked tired, worn. It didn't suit him. "Well. Cheers to survival," he said, raising his glass to Dean's, letting them clink softly. "I really did think I was done with this sort of thing."

"You'll get him back," Dean said. "There's a chance. A small one, but still a chance."

"You're crap at comforting people," Harry said.

"I'm better at sympathizing once I hear someone's life story," Dean said, not even slightly subtly pouring more whiskey into Harry's glass. It was already past midnight. In half a day, he and Sam would be gone. He didn't need reconnaissance for such a short time; he didn't need to hear about Harry's life. That didn't stop him from hoping Harry divulged.

Harry snorted, laughing despite the mood. "Does that ever work?"

"Want to find out? I'm told I'm a good listener."

"You're charming, all right. About as charming as a bucket of ice."

"Yeah, well, you're—crap at toasting. Who says cheers to survival, anyway? You don't say cheers for the bare minimum."

Harry raised his glass again, with Dean following in suit. "To a gay sex marathon between me and my husband when he gets back from wherever he is." They downed their glasses, and afterwards, Harry said, staring into the glass, "And to you and my alternate self meeting one day. Because you're a hell of a guy, whether you're an actor or a hunter."

"Cheers," Dean said. It was a nice fantasy: meeting someone he wouldn't mind staying forever with, despite that person being a man, and finding a happily ever after. But his life had never worked that way. That wasn't going to change. He was just lucky he hadn't hunted his world's Harry Potter.

They sat in the dim light, warm and safe and together, for another hour. Harry soon gave in, telling Dean the highlights of his life after he finished school, not going into his life before age eighteen. It was mostly hell and it was over, he succinctly said, instead lingering on the way he left Britain and met the love of his life. He'd hit a somewhat vain actor in the face with a hockey puck, and they'd gotten into it right there on the rink, surrounded by a couple dozen people playing hockey to raise money for a charity. They'd gotten summarily kicked out, and Harry had bought Jensen a coffee to make up for something that _totally wasn't his fault, bastard_. It was the start of a beautiful relationship, one that lead to years of dating, years of marriage, and adoption agency services bookmarked on Harry's computer.

"I guess you two aren't just in it for the tax benefits," Dean said, shaking his head.

Harry smiled. "You look like you swallowed a lemon. No, we're married because we love each other. Would you marry someone for any other reason?"

"Hell yeah," Dean replied. There wasn't any need to think on it. The sanctity of marriage was all well and good, but if it was for a hunt, and both people knew what they were getting into...

"There's probably a nature versus nurture argument somewhere in there, because Jensen would've said the opposite. I guess my counterpart in your world would be the same." Harry paused. They hadn't talked much about the fact that there was probably a Harry Potter in Dean's world. Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know anything more. It wasn't right, knowing this. "He's probably caught up in something big. I know myself well enough to know that at least."

"Sam and I've never heard of him. He couldn't be in anything that big."

"I don't think you two get much news from the other side of the pond."

Dean shrugged. They had Crowley, and that was quite enough for him. But it made him wonder what the Harry Potter in his own world was like. If he was as cheerful, as loyal... as male. Hell, maybe he was a woman in Dean's world. A red-haired bombshell of an evil witch. But strangely enough, Dean had gotten used to the idea of his not-self's spouse being male.

It wasn't that he wanted to ever be involved with his own world's Harry Potter. But if he did, if, then he'd want his own Harry to be like this one. Remembering the way Harry pulled his wand on him and Sam, Dean couldn't help but think he understood at least half the appeal. Green eyes blazing with determination and steely anger, then later, utter loyalty to getting his husband back. Harry was admirable in all the ways Dean wasn't; he'd had his own moment of heroism, and he hadn't blown it like Sam and Dean had. He'd done something to end it, while Dean's torments never left.

Dean sighed. "Fuck feelings." He didn't want to be thinking so intently about Harry Potter. It wasn't normal, or right, or something he did. It was just the effect of this world on him, he told himself, even though the comfort rang false.

"They're the worst," Harry said with a nod. "And they're only going to get worse, because you'll be in a whole lot of pain if I don't get my husband back. I will cross universes to hex you."

"You can try," Dean replied. It wouldn't do him any good, not when Dean was pretty sure Harry's magic wouldn't work in Dean's world. Not like the weapons Dean packed back home.

Harry told him what he knew of Jared and Gen, and the ridiculous rivalry and hatred between his husband and his friend's husband. They were both pranksters, and when two pranksters met, it was either hate or love at first sight. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Jared and Jensen had never learned to get along. But Harry and Gen had, becoming friends and comrades despite Harry's utter lack of interest in animal rights. She'd even met a few of his friends from Britain, cementing the idea that all Britons were crazy and out of touch with reality. In the first few weeks of their acquaintance, Gen had tried to dislike Harry on Jared's behalf, but couldn't really do it because she was too nice.

"Too nice? Ru—I mean, Gen?"

Harry mock-glared at him. "Think what you will, but she has a heart of gold below that lovely chest of hers. They all do—Jared, Jensen, the rest of the cast. Despite all the—" he waved a hand at the life-sized portrait of Jared on a dragon "—frills."

Dean snorted, not sure if he'd go as far as to believe it. Harry was alright, but his opinion of people was seriously skewed if he thought Gen and Jared were anything other than egocentric. Instead of arguing, he asked, "Your friends, the ones she met, they're also witches?"

"Yes, and wizards, since they're not all girls. Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny… They're all still in Britain, trying to make the world a better place."

"Why aren't you with them? You seem like the type."

"Got sick of the publicity."

"Which is why you became a professional hockey player and started dating an actor," Dean said, nodding sagely.

Harry rolled his eyes. "It wasn't like I was trying to become even more famous. It just… happened that way. First I moved here…"

Dean said little in return, mostly listening to Harry's voice, but when he did, he talked about his time with Lisa: his failings, her love, and Ben, the kid who'd made Dean rethink everything he'd always thought about having kids.

Eventually, Harry screwed shut the bottle of whiskey and returned it and their glasses to the kitchen. Dean was about to stumble onto the couch, not looking forward to spending a night not being able to stretch out his legs, when Harry returned to the den.

"C'mon up," Harry said, leaning in the doorway, his cheeks flushed with alcohol, his glasses slightly crooked. He wasn't the type of person Dean would pick up at a bar—he wasn't a woman—but that just made something inside Dean warm.

"Really?" Dean asked. Harry didn't seem like the type.

"I'm not cheating on my husband, if that's what you're thinking."

"And I don't want to sleep with you." It was a complicated truth.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not even gay." And he wasn't. But there were other things he could be, hidden in the back of his mind and ignored for years.

Harry tried to raise his other eyebrow, but failed. "Dammit," he said, giving up. "It'll all the better for me to keep an eye on you."

"I'm not planning to get into trouble."

"Judging by the last few years of your life, trouble has a good way of finding you." Harry took Dean's hand, leading him gently up the stairs, and only released him when they reached their bedroom.


	4. DAY THREE

Dean was no stranger to sex, or wet dreams, or fantasies. He had enough of those things to fill a TV channel with a number of them left over. Which was why, when he woke up from a dream featuring himself, Anna, Harry, and Doctor Sexy, he carefully thought of old wrinkled grandmothers and his father's judging look and high school until his misguided boner deflated.

He could only thank whatever god this world had that Harry wasn't in bed with him at the moment. Though he couldn't see him, he was pretty sure it was Harry on the couch, drinking tantalizingly smelling coffee and typing.

He listened to the click of Harry's keyboard for a while, just lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. He couldn't ignore the world forever, and didn't want to, but sometimes he wished he could have quiet moments like these again. Sometimes he missed Lisa, and he knew that later, sometimes he would, just a little, miss Harry.

"Are you a technomancer now, too?" Dean asked as he finally decided to get out of bed.

"You should be glad I'm a modern wizard," Harry said, closing the lid of the laptop. "I think I may be one of the three or four Hogwarts-educated people who know how to use the internet."

"What do they do instead?" Dean asked, pulling on his clothes.

Harry shrugged. "Read books, listen to the wizarding radio—don't ask me how that works, I have no idea."

"There's no music?"

"No good music."

"Are you saying that there's a whole society of people who were never introduced to Metallica?"

"Thousands of them."

Dean shuddered. "What a terrible life."

There were no soft kisses this morning, not when Harry knew the truth, but there was an intimacy after what they'd shared with each other last night that Dean hadn't had with anyone he hadn't slept with. Once they got to the bottom of the stairs, intending to meet up with Sam and Gen and make sure everyone was on the same page of their plan to get back home, Harry paused.

"Take care, Dean. I hate to think that any version of Jensen has a life as rough as yours."

"I'll try," Dean replied. "I guess this is goodbye."

"Goodbye," Harry said, conflicting emotions running across his face.

If this were a movie, if Harry weren't married, if Dean wasn't so screwed up (not if Dean were gay, because he wasn't even pretending to be in denial anymore; he couldn't, not with Harry here and so damn perfect)… There were so many if only's in this world. This perfect world, where his and Sam's alternate selves were gainfully employed and happily married—and not brothers or friends or the most important people in each other's lives.

If push came to shove, Dean would never give up Sam for the chance of love. But if only.

Step by step, they arrived in the dining room, where Sam and Gen were already sitting. Sam looked well-rested and happy, better than he looked with Dean. Dean very carefully didn't think about it for very long. He also chose to ignore the many hickies covering Sam's neck.

During breakfast, they discussed their plan, as short and lacking as it was. Virgil was powerless and off his game; all they had to do was subdue him.

"…do your plans ever go the way you want them to?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"No, but they always work out fine. We're both still alive, after all."

Sam coughed. "We've only died a couple times."

"Do yours ever go perfectly?" Dean asked.

"Well," Harry said. "I did defeat my parents' killer with a handy trick. And he stayed dead."

"Let's just hope Virgil doesn't have any of those under his sleeve," Dean muttered.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Sam said, piling another stack of pancakes onto his plate.

.

Four hours later, Harry yelled, "What's the worst that could happen? Really?" He ducked under a lopsided couch just as Virgil pulled the trigger of his gun again, sending a line of bullets through the wall behind him. He wasn't very keen on seeing if his shield charm could stand up to the incredibly fast pace of a bullet.

"This is just a regular weekend for us!" Dean yelled, his voice almost drowned out in the shouts of the cast and crew trying to avoid who they thought to be an insane guest star.

Dean had no idea how Virgil had known what guns were and how to use them so effectively—the angel was the weapons master of heaven, but those were heavenly weapons, the kind with swords and magic and grace, not submachine guns. Most angels thought humans were still in the dark ages, and weren't interested in learning how to use human technology. It was just their luck that Virgil was different.

As soon as Virgil turned in another direction—and he was just shooting people to waste time before being pulled back to their world, the bastard—Dean crossed the open area between his hiding spot and Harry's. Sam and Gen were across the room

"Do you have a plan?" Harry asked, rising just enough to see Virgil's mad laugh and confident saunter towards the window the Winchesters had crashed through. It was the same window his husband would—could, should—crash through in just minutes.

"Sam's closer," Dean said, making his way closer to where Sam and Gen and Virgil were while trying to stay covered. "We're his backup."

Harry followed suit. He wasn't unused to fighting; hockey was a contact sport, and checking happened often. But he wasn't used to fighting a man with a gun, one he couldn't use magic against. If he tried, he'd just alert Virgil to their location. He wouldn't endanger Dean's life like that.

As Virgil passed a certain spot, Sam moved out from behind a wheeled scenery wall, grabbing the man in a chokehold. Dean and Harry quickly ran to help, Harry grabbing the gun from Virgil and pointing it straight at him.

While Virgil kept his eye on the gun in Harry's hand, not knowing that Harry didn't in fact know how to use it, Sam came up behind him, slamming a two by four plank against the back of his head. Virgil fell to the ground, knocked unconscious, and Gen quickly pulled a length of rope from her handbag. Soon, he was as immobile as they could make him without killing him.

Their plan had worked out more or less perfectly, plus a few casualties. Harry had a feeling that even if the stars of Supernatural came back, the show would not be able to go on. Not after most of its directors were murdered.

He looked down at Virgil's face, painfully aware that no one could know the truth: that it was not Carlos, a kind actor, who'd done these deeds today, but that it had been a rogue angel from another world. And yet Carlos' name was forever ruined, whether the real Carlos made it back or not.

"It's glowing!" Gen yelled, pointing at the angelic symbol on the glass. She quickly moved farther away to keep herself from getting pulled in.

"We need to—" Dean broke off, a strong wind beginning to pull him to the window.

"Go, I'll take care of him," Harry said. It would take precious minutes to drag Virgil to the window, minutes that Sam and Dean couldn't spare. He wasn't sure how, but he would find a way to keep Virgil imprisoned for his crimes. "Take care."

"You too," Dean said, and with a mighty roar, the Winchester brothers crashed through the window, pulled by an invisible force.

Harry blinked once, twice, three times, but there was no corresponding crash of two more bodies. There was nothing to signal the return of Jensen and Jared. All he was left with was the sound of sirens in the distance that were slowly growing louder, an unconscious murder, Gen standing next to him with her hand on his shoulder, and a number of dead bodies around them.

"Do you think…?" Gen trailed off, the words too hard to speak.

"Sam and Dean are fine. They're survivors," Harry said, attempting to smile but falling flat.

It was Sam and Dean—and maybe their crazy world's Harry—who were survivors. Time and time again, they defied fate. Harry had been the same way once, but now he was just Harry, a hockey player and a husband and an utterly normal man, and he was subject to the same fates as the rest of mankind.

All he wanted, all he needed, was his husband back. That was all, dammit. But it looked like his luck had finally completely run out.

He turned around, intending to greet the police and tell them a version of what happened, when he heard two loud thuds from the direction of the window. Harry spun around.

Two very familiar people had crashed through the window, and were picking themselves up from the ground. Harry's breath caught somewhere in his throat. He knew the body that he saw intimately, but its mind was a different matter.

"Jensen?" Harry said, watching the man get up, his heart in his throat. If this was Sam and Dean, if the spell had failed, if his husband was really dead…

"Harry! I had the weirdest couple of days. I know you won't believe this, but Jared and I appeared in a motel! An actual one, not on the set. And we tried to get back here except we were across the border and no one appeared to recognize us, though someone did say we looked a lot like what she'd imagined Sam and Dean from that book series to look like, and the bad Bob Singer impersonator was totally insane—"

Jensen broke off as Harry hugged him tightly, pressing as close as he could to his husband. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Gen and Jared doing the same.

"I'm so glad you're back," Harry whispered, breathless.

"I am, too," Jensen said, gripping Harry just as tightly. He was finally home.

.

A note found by Jensen on his phone, two days, six very Canadian meals, one ecstatic adoption conversation, and a lot of sex since his return from crazytown:

_Dean would be a great name. Or Deanna. I'm not picky._

.

Dean still felt off-kilter the next morning, and from the way Sam was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, staring out onto the road more intently than he had during his driving exam, Sam felt the same. The day was over, the fight for the weapons of heaven was finished, and he and Sam were on their way to a new case. Despite everything, the alternate reality they'd visited was still fresh in their minds.

"How do you know we're... us?" Sam finally said. "And not characters? That this world isn't just some sort of figment."

Dean sighed. This was why he was trying not to think about these things. They'd never figured out how Harry and Jensen's reality fit into the grand scheme of things. And with the lack of information from Cas and Balthazar, they weren't likely to.

"I think you're thinking of the Matrix, not real life. But. Well. They decided to cut a scene from the show, didn't they?" Dean finally said.

"You don't mean...?"

"Stop the car," Dean replied. "Let's sit on the Impala and talk about our feelings." The words felt wrong in his mouth, but he stopped the car and grabbed two beers from the trunk. There was something he needed to tell Sam, after all.

Sam stared at him incredulously, but parked the car on the side of the road. There were no cars on the country road but theirs, just a wide expanse of corn fields on either side of them, and a picturesque sunset on the horizon.

"I'm... not as straight as I always let on. Never wanted you to know. Guess it's out now."

"Dean— You don't... You know I don't care, right? I've never cared. You're my brother."

"Good, good. I think we've done a good go at it. Now we can—"

"Share our feelings equally?" Sam asked, eyebrow raised.

"Oh, go on." He'd always been such a brat, Dean thought with amusement.

Sam opened his mouth, closed it. Dean thought for a moment that he'd say something about Ruby, or Madison, or Jess, but he didn't. "Thanks. For always being there for me."

Dean clasped Sam's shoulder, feeling both uncomfortable and happy.

"And if you want I can see what I can find on H—"

"Don't bother," Dean interjected, taking another gulp of beer.

He'd chosen this path years ago, and even if he sometimes had regrets, it was too late to change his mind. He couldn't give up this—hunting, Sam, Cas—just for a search for a man who may not even exist in this world. For better or for worse, some meetings weren't avoidable. If this was one of those, Harry would turn up eventually. If it wasn't... Dean wasn't going to sweat it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> There won't be a sequel.


End file.
